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choosing my coffin
Last night I dreamt that I visited the Peaceful Slumbers Funeral Home of Cheney, Texas, to select my coffin. Yes, this a setting straight out of the X-Files Season 5 episode "Bad Blood".
I gravitated to the black casket showroom, where the latest trend in interment-ware was "Retro Haute Victoriana": sleek caskets made of pure polished ebony, in that old-fashioned violin-case shape you now only see in Halloween decorations.
What's weird is the fact that I have NO intention of being buried. I am bequeathing my tasty corpse to the University of Tennessee's Forensic Anthropology Research Facility, where my remains (after organ donation) will be allowed to decompose for forensic research. Then my bones will be reassembled so that medical students can study a real skeleton. I'll be a campy-mobile!
That way, I'm useful after I'm dead -- even if I'm not that useful alive.
Waitaminit -- I might have to choose a coffin anyway, because once my skeleton becomes too old and crumbly to be useful, it requires proper disposal. After all, I don't want some Satanist-wannabe conjuring with my bones. In that case, I want a skull-shaped urn for my ashes.
By the way, many folks refer to the UT facility as the "Body Farm" -- which is kinda stupid, because it doesn't grow bodies.
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